


a taste of you and me

by skamz



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: (bye), Fluff, M/M, also will i try to include all the spices they used on their cheese toasties? probably hehe, baking!!!! lots of baking and some cooking, enemies to lover? opponents to lover?, norway's next great bakers, some light angst here and there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 12:12:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15412662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skamz/pseuds/skamz
Summary: Isak finds himself frowning slightly, now.Improvising? Random ideas? Tweaking recipes?He can't help but disagree with people who have this kind of approach to baking. Honestly, in what world is that the best thing about baking? It can't be, because it's just—It's justrisky, and you run the chance of ruining everything by doing things that way.Baking involves following specific steps and not deviating from them, and doing so in order to end up with something right and good. In order to not risk ending up with something that's a mess and in order to know what to expect.It just shouldn't be whatever this guy described it as.Or: for Isak, baking is a science and for Even, it's more of an art, and they face each other in a baking competition.





	a taste of you and me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teatrolley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teatrolley/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Us, but we're...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12622332) by [Teatrolley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teatrolley/pseuds/Teatrolley). 



> hello hellooo. okay so this should've been posted, like, months ago sjjksdjsnjs. but i wasn't satisfied with it, and still kind of am not, but it's em's birthday, and if i don't post it for the occasion, i probably never will, oops. this whole thing was inspired by a part of that gorgeous fic she wrote, in which i&e tell each other different stories in which they meet, and in one of them, they meet on the set of gbbo, and even has to borrow sugar from isak. anyway, go read the fic, and literally anything she's ever written, because it's all just truly amazing stuff
> 
> so yes, happy bday em, m&m titroli, you're wonderful beyond words, both as a writer and as a person, and i'm so so glad we're friends, truly, and i hope you'll like this 
> 
> (this fic ended up being, hm, slightly? longer than expected, so i divided it into three parts. second part should be posted in a couple of days! also also i didn't just randomly made vilde one of isak's roommates, you'll see more of her in the other parts :)) (also it's not proofread i am SORRY for your eyes)

Whoever said that baking is a science was right.

You see, Isak hasn't always been a particularly skilled baker. It's not that he used to be  _bad_  one, per se—it's more that he never really attempted to bake much of anything up until a few years ago, when his good friend Sana had asked him to. She had been helping organize a fundraiser for the society of cardiology and Isak had eventually pitched in by baking sweets for the occasion.

One hundred and fifty cupcakes, to be exact.

Which was definitely  _not_  something Isak had thought he could successfully accomplish, initially. Sure, he knew how to cook simple meals that only required throwing a few ingredients into a pot, and he was quite the expert at preheating the oven for frozen pizza, but the bakery near his apartment or the coffee shop next to university were his go-to places when he was in the mood for something sweet.

But he had really wanted to do this right for Sana, and he had tried his best to do a good job. By doing so, Isak had discovered that baking is actually pretty similar to doing a chemistry lab, something he's been familiar with and interested in since he can remember. Baking involves setting up the kitchen and precisely measuring ingredients, mixing them in a specific order. It involves a series of steps and chemical reactions and the transformation of elements and it all makes sense, if you do it right, if you follow the rules.

Actually, Isak sometimes finds himself enjoying baking more than doing labs; it's not as serious, it's not something he has to do for school or for work and he's not obligated to file reports when he's done. It's something he gets to do just for the sake of it, in the comfort of his own kitchen, because he enjoys doing it. The results he gets are much sweeter, too—literally.

It's also something he gets to share, and it feels nice, when his friends get to enjoy the things he bakes for them. He likes being able to give them that.

 

It's a lazy Thursday night in front of the living room television when a folded newspaper comes flying at Isak's face, startling him.

"Hey! What the fuck?"

"There's something in there you really want to see, look on the left page," Eskild says, as he comes to sit next to him on the couch.

Isak frowns, suddenly curious. He takes the newspaper from his lap, and starts to read:

"The importance of colonoscopies in adults over the age—" Isak shoots him a look that's both confused and outraged. "Eskild, again,  _what the fuck_?" he asks, voice going a little high.

Eskild grimaces and quickly grabs the paper from Isak's hands. "Well, that doesn't interest us," he murmurs to himself. "Not yet, at least—"

" _Eskild_."

"Ha! It was on the right page, actually, my bad," he says, pointing at said page. "This is what I wanted you to take a look at."

Under Eskild's finger, there's a picture of three chefs whom Isak recognizes, having seen them in different cooking shows. It's an ad, inviting amateur bakers to sign up for this new baking competition that will start airing soon and—

 _Wait_.

"I'm so not doing that," he deadpans.

"Oh, you are so doing that."

"Am not!" Isak insists. "I don't want to, like, be on TV, what the fuck?"

Eskild sighs exasperatedly. "First of all, Isak, it's totally unfair how much the camera loves you, so I really don't see what's the  _issue_  here," he argues. "Look, it says it's just for one episode, and the winner gets 15 000 kroner. For  _baking cakes_."

"15 000 kroner and it's just one episode?" Isak asks, and this time he's trying to not appear too eager, but he can't deny that his interest is peaked, now.

Eskild nods widely. "Yep! You know, you could treat yourself and all that fun stuff," he says. "And with the leftovers, well, my birthday comes after that."

"Your birthday's in, like, August."

"So?"

"This thing's in February!"

Eskild raises an eyebrow. "Like I  _said_ , my birthday comes after this."

Isak rolls his eyes. "We don't even know if I'd win this...thing, anyway, or if I'm even gonna get picked to participate in the first place," he says. "If I, hm, actually sign up."

Eskild smiles at him, this time, a sincere, more serious smile that Isak has grown to recognize after being his friend and roommate all these years. "Isak, you totally have what it takes to win this. You make stuff that's just as good as, if not better than what you'd find in an actual bakery." He wraps an arm around Isak's shoulders, squeezes him a little too tight, but Isak doesn't groan, and smiles back at him instead. "They'd be fools not to choose you."

And, okay,  _fine—_ maybe this isn't too bad of an idea.

***

They ended up filming a little home video in which Isak presented himself and was shown baking a chocolate soufflé, and a batch of passion fruit macaroons. ("Go big or go home," Eskild told him). Vilde, his other roommate, had also taken the time to help him out despite her busy school and work schedule, and had actually edited the video for him. ("You want them to see just how likable you are, and how much you can appeal to their audience," she said).

And this is how Isak finds himself here, a few weeks later, on the set of  _Norway's Next Great Bakers._

Isak is waiting for his turn to be interviewed before the actual competition starts, and he casually listens to the other contestants answer the questions they're being asked, without really paying much attention to what they're saying, until—

_Listen._

You seriously can't blame Isak for the way he's practically staring at this one contestant. Not when his smile is so radiant that it illuminates his entire face and makes it seem like he was actually asked to come here to shoot a toothpaste commercial. 

"I've loved baking ever since I was a kid," he says and even his voice is nice, just low enough and smooth and a little cheery. "It's always allowed me to combine two of my main passions."

"Which are?"

Isak takes a deep breath. It's been—

It's been a while since he's looked at a guy like this. Since he's wanted to look at a guy like this. Isak can't remember the last time a guy caught his eyes like this, but there's something about this one that makes him unable to look away. It's not just his smile—it's the lips that frame it, full and plump, and the eyes it reaches, and the way their corners crinkle.

"Well, food," he starts, his smile turning into a little laugh (Isak wants to hear it again). "And art, too."

When he's asked to elaborate, he continues: "It's not just about presentation. I really do see baking as a form of art, and I love being able to...be creative in the kitchen, and improvising. Coming up with random ideas, tweaking more classic recipes and just waiting to see how it all turns out, you know? That's just the best thing about baking."

Isak finds himself frowning slightly, now.  _Improvising? Random ideas? Tweaking recipes?_

He can't help but disagree with people who have this kind of approach to baking. Honestly, in what world is that the best thing about baking? It can't be, because it's just—

It's just  _risky_ , and you run the chance of ruining everything by doing things that way.

Baking involves following specific steps and not deviating from them, and doing so in order to end up with something right and good. In order to not risk ending up with something that's a mess and in order to know what to expect.

It just shouldn't be whatever this guy described it as.

"So, you don't exactly like to follow the rules, it seems?"

The guy smiles again, and shrugs. "You know, sometimes the rules only matter if you want them to."

Isak looks away, this time.

***

So.

Isak is at the baking station next to only-semi-attractive-guy.

(His name is actually Even, Isak has discovered.)

(Whatever.)

The judges are giving them the instructions for their first task: they'll have forty minutes to bake a molten lava cake.

"Molten lava cake is one of my absolute favorites, I make it all the time," he tells Isak, and it doesn't sound like he's trying to brag, but rather like he's genuinely excited to have that be their first task. He's beaming, blue blue  _blue_  eyes lighting up and, okay, he's still more than only semi-attractive, despite his flawed opinions. Isak doesn't really know what to reply.

He just nods.

"Anyway, good luck," he says, holding out his hand. Isak stares at it for a second, his heart picking up speed for some reason, before he shakes it. And he has to swallow whatever noise threatens to escape his throat, because they're not allowed to be this large, and soft.

He takes a deep breath as one of the judges starts counting down from five, subtly rubs his hand down his apron to erase the phantom feeling of Even's.

 

Isak has made molten lava cake before, and after concentrating for a minute, he's able to remember the recipe he's always used. He starts by preheating the oven to make sure it'll be at the perfect temperature for when he'll put the ramequins in it. He then prepares the ingredients, weighing the raspberries and the sugar for the coulis he'll make, and then the chocolate, the butter, the sugar and the flour, separating egg yolks from whites.

He's paying attention to his station and his station  _alone_ , whipping up eggs and sugar to the perfect consistency when chocolate and butter have melted together in the double-boiler, but then—

Honestly, it's his eyes betraying him when he starts glancing to his left, and when the glances turn into stares. Even is incorporating his chocolate mixture into the eggs and sugar one, and it seems like he does know what he's doing.

 _Well_.

Isak mixes his own ingredients together, the smell of the rich chocolate batter and the raspberries cooking down blending in the air. He finally stirs in the sifted flour, tries to focus his attention on the textures and the aromas, but he finds himself turning his head to the left again. This time, though, he's almost taken aback by what he sees:

Even is taking flour from his small flour bag with a spoon that's not even a _measuring_ one, adding a random amount into his batter and then mixing it in. And then he does it again, adding a different amount.

"You know, if this was an exam, the prof would tell you to stop cheating," he says, almost teasingly. Isak immediately looks away, slightly flustered and mostly annoyed at himself for managing to get caught.

He pushes his shoulders back a little. "I wasn't cheating," he quickly retorts. "You're—you're not even supposed to randomly add flour like this, why would I even want to copy you?" he then says. He feels a pang of guilt almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, as he realizes how harsh he had just sounded.

Even raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. "I know what I'm doing," he replies, leaving no room for debate. "A third of a cup wasn't enough and I wasn't satisfied with the texture, so I'm fixing it."

Isak doesn't reply, and bites the inside of his cheek instead. He gives his batter a final stir, making sure it's completely smooth.

A third of a cup not being enough, though? That's about forty grams, and Isak only used thirty and he clearly doesn't need more, right? He shakes his head—he's done this exact recipe before, and he knows he can trust it, knows what to expect from it. It won't fail him, he  _knows_  this, and maybe Even simply made more batter, which would mean that he needed more flour, and—

"Only fifteen minutes left!" A judge announces.

"Shit," he curses. He rushes to butter and flour his ramequins, pours the batter in them, places them on a plaque which he basically throws into the oven. He strains the raspberry coulis, cools it down in an ice bath when his thermometer indicates that it's too warm to serve.

And then he waits as his cakes bake, watches the large clock at the front of the kitchen tick as he does.

When it's time for the judges to evaluate their lava cakes, it seems that not everyone managed to successfully bake theirs. Out of the six first contestants to present their plates, one had overcooked his, another had clearly used too much flour, and one had been so afraid to overcook her cake that it had ended up actually undercooked and falling apart on her plate.

Isak's lava cake looks like perfection, and so he's only slightly apprehensive as he presents his plate to the judges. One of them cuts it open, and the inside slowly oozes out like it's supposed to. They all comment on how perfect it looks and tastes, especially with the side of cold crème fraîche and the coulis, telling Isak that it's restaurant quality.

"Thank you," Isak says, sincerely, giving them a single nod.

He doesn't want to let himself feel overly confident about this, but it is starting to appear like he might be the one in the lead, like he actually has a really good shot at winning this first part of the competition.

That is, until Even presents his lava cake to the judges.

They cut it open, and the texture is...perfect, for some reason. Perfectly cooked on the outside and melted on the inside, despite him not even properly measuring his ingredients.

It might be a tie at this point, Isak thinks. However, Even only added a dollop of—

Fuck, _wait_. Is that actually ice cream instead of crème fraîche?

Isak hadn't even thought of using the ice cream maker. Would he have had time to make some? Would it have been better than the coulis and crème fraîche combo?

_No._

Isak's version ought to be better, flavor-wise

When the first judge takes a bite of Even's cake, though, her eyes widen a little in surprise, before giving a nod of approval.

"A spicy lava cake?" Another judge asks, sounding impressed.

"Instead of using flour to flour the ramekins, I mixed some cacao powder and a dash of chili powder, to give it just an initial kick," Even explains.

"It pairs wonderfully with the chocolate," a judge says. "And you have the vanilla ice cream to cool everything down. It's amazing that you managed to pull this off in just forty minutes."

"Great job here, Even."

"Thank you," Even tells them, bowing down slightly.

He comes back to his station, a pleased smile on his face.

"Hey, good job," he whispers to Isak, nodding toward his plate.

For a moment, Isak considers allowing himself to have a pretty childish reaction and ignoring him. Clearly, the judges preferred Even's cake over his, so it frankly doesn't really matter that he did good job. You either win or you don't.

Isak lets out a sigh.

He hasn't felt this competitive since he signed up for this. He didn't  _expect_  to become this competitive.

Well, actually, if he's being honest, it's not exactly a strong desire to win that he's feeling right now. It's more that the fact that Even managed to do this well with his approach to baking kind of confuses the hell out of him.

"Thanks," he says, at last. "You too." He means it.

Even ends up winning this first challenge, which doesn't come as much of a surprise. The judges praise him for the presentation and the taste of his lava cake, tell him that it was both perfectly executed and original, and Isak doesn't really know what to think of Even anymore.

All he knows is that Even's methods seemingly work, potentially even better than his.

***

For the next challenge, they're asked to bake a cupcake that will have to be more than simply  _good_ , one that will obviously impress the judges. And Isak can do this, he knows more than one cupcake recipes that are complex, with good contrasting flavors, that he knows how to execute perfectly.

Except—

Isak then finds out that, as the winner of the previous challenge, Even gets to assign each of the remaining contestants a specific ingredient, that will have to shine through their cupcake. Which is going to limit his options, definitely, but maybe the ingredient he'll be given will already be in one of his recipes and he'll be able to do this well.

This is fine.

Even arrives to his station, and Isak swallows audibly when their eyes meet.

(Why are they so god damn blue in this lighting?)

 _Honestly_ , this is fine.

Isak looks down as Even places a few rosemary sprigs in front of him.

This is not fine.

 _What the fuck_ , he wants to say out loud.

He doesn't  _have_  a recipe that includes rosemary. He holds on to the edge of the counter a little more tightly, staring down at the sprigs. Even's obviously trying to sabotage him by giving him this unusual ingredient, which is so low. He probably sees him as his biggest competition here, since his lava cake was the second best, and he's trying to make sure Isak will have a hard time coming up with something that'll make him worthy of winning this thing. It's just so obvious and—

It's working. Because right now, minutes before this final challenge starts, he has no idea what cupcake he's going to make.

He takes a deep breath.  _One, two, three, four_. Exhales.  _One, two, three, four._

Without thinking, Isak is reaching for one of the damn sprigs, bringing it to his nose and smelling it. He searches through the drawers in his brain and all the recipes they contain, tries to find one that will  _fit_  with this.

He's seen rosemary and lemon combined, in sweet and savory dishes. Rosemary and lemon cake. He's never made it, but Isak has made lemon cake, he has a good recipe for that. And buttercream, and candied lemon rinds and—

Isak smells it again. It's woodsy and fresh and strong and he'll have to be careful with how much he uses.

It's a little unsettling, not knowing exactly what he's about to do, and how it'll turn out.

He takes a deep breath.

He thinks he can do this. Or at least, he'll just try his very best, and hope that, somehow, that'll be enough.

Isak hates how he can feel that Even is only a few meters away from him, and more than that, he hates how he's still feeling the urge to look in his direction. He shakes his head, recites the ingredients he'll need to himself before he has to go get them in the pantry, willing himself to ignore everything else.

He quickly grabs everything he needs from the fridges, and then the flour, and when he's about to reach for a bag of powdered sugar, another hand comes close to his, and Isak notices the long fingers, as they grab a bag of sugar, and he can see, from the corner of his eyes, who is standing beside him. And the thing is that he can feel a presence, too, and he feels like he'd be able to tell it was him without having to see him, like this presence has to be him, for some reason.

(Maybe it's the way it makes him feel. Unsettled, nervous.)

(Curious.)

"Can't wait to see what you're going to make, Isak," he says, and his voice is still so damn pleasant, and he sounds like he means what he just said, and even more pleasant is the way he says his name and—

Isak frowns.

"I need to go get some eggs," he mumbles, vaguely gesturing toward the fridges, without looking in Even's direction.

He walks away, then, realizing that there are obviously eggs already in his basket.

_Jesus._

He goes for the baking powder and baking soda, after, and on the same shelf, he sees—

Oh.  _Oh_. This is good—this is actually really good.

Calcium gluconate and sodium alginate, which he can use for the spherification of liquids, which he  _knows_  how to use, and he can already see this:

He's thinking of the rosemary scent, but lighter, diluted in water, and sweetened—in a syrup form. And lemon, in lemonade, more tart, and the contrast it would create. He can make little rosemary and lemon spheres that would burst with flavor, and it would complement the cupcake, and it would add freshness to the plate. And it could work.

Isak puts the ingredients in his basket.

It  _would_  work.

And so that's what he starts with when it's time to bake, letting the butter and the egg reach room temperature in the meantime. He makes a simple syrup and squeezes the juice of half a lemon, and in a small saucepan, he brings water and sugar to a boil with a rosemary sprig. He weighs the sodium alginate and water and prepares a solution.

He weighs and mixes all the dry ingredients except for the sugar, turns off the stove and allows the rosemary syrup to infuse for now. He then creams the sugar and the butter together, adds the eggs one by one, the seeds he scraped out of a vanilla bean, the lemon juice and zest.

Isak takes a rosemary sprig, looks at it for a second. How much of it should he use? He's never used rosemary, so he doesn't know, he doesn't have a specific measurement in mind, he—

In one quick motion, he strips the rosemary leaves from the stem, and chops them very finely. He adds a small amount to the mix, and then he smells it. And the scent is there, he can smell it, but it's faint, and still overpowered by the lemon. And so he adds more, smells the mixture again, and then some more, until the rosemary scent is predominant, but not overwhelming. Until it smells like it might be right.

Isak sifts the dry ingredients into the mixture little by little, and then the batter is done, and there's no turning back, now.

"Isak?"

Isak turns his head to the left, from where he heard his name being called, and where Even is currently standing, looking at him.

Why is he talking to him right now?

"What do you want?" he asks, his tone more confused than accusatory.

"Do you think you could give me some of your powdered sugar?"

_Seriously?_

"Why?" It comes out automatically.

"I'm making cream cheese frosting but it's, hm," Even detaches the bowl from his standing mixer, and Isak rises on his tiptoes to take a look from where he's standing. It's clearly too wet, he must've used too much cream cheese. This will, at best, become a thick glaze, but it certainly won't look or taste the way a proper cream cheese frosting should.

This should've been simple, though—how could he mess this up?

"I was accidentally a little too generous with the cream cheese," he explains.

 _See_ , this is why Isak does things the way he does in the kitchen, and it's actually a confirmation that he's right to do so, because _this_ would never happen to him.

"If you would've measured your—" Isak starts, but stops when he meets Even's eyes once again, when Even offers him a small pursed-lip smile that doesn't quite reach them, and nods. He looks like he doesn't want to argue.

"I know," he simply says, his eyes not leaving Isak's.

"Hm."

It would make sense, in the context of this competition, to not help him out. This would most likely ensure that Even wouldn't win, which is technically what Isak is aiming for here, of course.

 _Still_.

It's not that Isak wants him to win. God, no, that would be just ridiculous, and he wants to win, he  _does_. But also—

Even losing because he needed more powdered sugar for his icing would quite frankly suck, and Isak wouldn't want to be in his shoes right now. Not that he  _would_  be because, again, he'd never let something like this happen.

Isak sighs.

He doesn't want Even to lose—like that.

He takes a look at his bag. He needs 330 grams out of the 500 grams, which wouldn't leave much for Even, not enough to bring all of his frosting to the right consistency.

Isak weighs the sugar he's going to need and leaves the rest in the bag. He then takes a look at Even's frosting once again.

"Take a portion out," he says, pointing at it. "And mix this sugar in. It's not enough for the whole thing but you can make a smaller batch. I mean, you don't need a lot anyway, right?" He makes a few steps toward Even's station and hands him the bag. "This is, hm—it's all I can give you."

Even's fingers brush against his when he takes the bag, but he ignores that.

(Tries to.)

(They're still so soft.)

Even's smile does reach his eyes, now. "Thank you, Isak," he says. "Really."

Isak swallows thickly. "It's fine. Good, hm, luck."

"You too," Even says, as Isak goes back to his station. "I'm sure you're making something amazing."

 _Why would you give me the rosemary to bake with_ , Isak can't help but think. Why would he do this when he really doesn't sound like someone who would want to sabotage his chances of winning?

Isak closes his eyes for a moment.

Opens them again.

The batter—right.

He puts the cupcakes in the oven, and adds the perfect amount of calcium gluconate to the lemonade and the rosemary syrup. He sucks up the liquids in two syringes, pushes individual drops into the sodium solution. The two elements react as they're supposed to, forming a film on the outer surface of the drops.

Isak lets out a sigh of relief. It worked like it was supposed to.

It's then time for the buttercream, and he takes the bowl with the powdered sugar he has left in it.

He looks over at Even, briefly, and sees him prepare his cupcakes for the oven, tapping his tray on the counter to remove air bubbles from the batter. Isak finds himself wondering what idea he came up with, this time, wondering if he decided to also give this recipe a special and unique touch, like he had earlier with his lava cake.

Isak also finds himself hoping that things are going well, for him.

 

When the cupcakes are out of the oven, Isak tastes one before he starts plating, and he realizes almost as soon as the bite hits his tongue that it tastes amazing.

It's perfectly moist, not too light and not too dense, which was to be expected, since he's made this lemon cake before. The  _taste_ , though.

He didn't expect it to turn out this good, this  _right_.

These cupcakes are only in part improvised, but they taste like they weren't at all.

He actually got so lucky, here.

Later, when the judges announce that the time is up, Isak has already finished assembling his plate. The contestants are then called one by one, and Isak finds out what ingredient Even had assigned them: blueberries, cherries, cinnamon, hazelnuts—things that are easy to incorporate into cupcakes. 

He's still really curious as to why Even had picked rosemary for him. 

Even presents his plate before he does, this time. Isak doesn't know what ingredient he had to work with, or if he even had to assign himself one, but he can see that his cupcake is absolutely beautiful. The frosting is shaped like a realistic looking red rose, with all these little details and different shades of reds. And the thing is that Isak does consider himself to be a skilled baker, but he could never pull off such intricate frosting work. 

Even  _had_ said that art is one of his passions, and Isak can't deny that this is what his cupcake looks like—art. 

"What do we have here, Even?" 

"Reverse red velvet," Even says. 

"Reverse red velvet?" One of the judges asks. They all seem intrigued, and so is Isak. 

Even nods. "I used a red velvet cake recipe, but I omitted the red coloring, and since I had to incorporate cacao butter, I used that instead of the cacao powder we usually use in red velvet cakes, in order to keep it white and still give it that hint of cacao flavor," he explains.

"And the rose?"

From where Isak is standing, he can hear Even huff out a laugh, and he sees him scratch the back of his neck, and shrug as he says: "I had to make the frosting red, and Valentine's day is coming up, isn't it?"

It makes all the judges smile.

"This is as delicious as it is romantic," one of them says.

"Once again, you did a fantastic job, Even."

A part of Isak feels—

 _Really pleased_. The realization almost catches him off guard, as Even returns to his station. Isak is looking at him, again, and he can't be bothered to try to look away.

"Great job," Isak tells him, and the words come out effortlessly.

Even is beaming. "Thank you." He's still looking at Isak when his name is called next. "You've got this," he mouths. It makes warmth spread through his belly, and then all the way to the tip of his fingers. They're almost too relaxed, suddenly, and he has to consciously tighten his grip on the plate he's about to present to the judges.

 _You've got this_ , he repeats to himself, and as he walks toward them, he can't help but feel like he does.

"Rosemary is actually my favorite herb," one of the judges says. "At first glance, it really seems like you used it well. What was the idea behind this cupcake?"

Isak's first thought is that he's not quite sure what was the idea behind his cupcake. Up until today, he had never thought of baking one like this, had never come across a recipe like this one. He'd just made it because he had reached the conclusion that combining ingredients the way he did would result in something that would taste great.

"Rosemary pairs really well with lemon," he says. "And the side of lemon and rosemary caviar is meant to be a, hm, more refreshing addition to the cupcake, because the frosting is quite sweet, so it creates a, hm—a nice balance."

"It's pretty bold of you to use molecular gastronomy techniques," one judge comments.

"I love molecular gastronomy," Isak simply replies. "I love chemistry."

His arms are crossed behind his back, and he gives his elbow a little squeeze, feeling a little nervous as a judge cuts out a piece of his cupcake, examining its texture, before bringing the fork to his lips. 

Isak holds his breath. 

The judge's reaction is almost immediate, his eyes widening. "This is absolutely wonderful!" he exclaims as soon as he swallows his bite. 

The other two judges have similar reactions. "These flavors are exquisite! There's just the right amount of sweetness and tartness, and the lemon and rosemary caviar is absolutely divine!" 

Isak can't quite feel the ground beneath his feet right now as he listens to their comments; it's like he's floating. "Thank you," he quickly says, means it from the bottom of his heart. 

This feeling takes over him, then, one he's not really used to, one he rarely allows himself to feel.

In this precise moment, Isak is truly, completely, proud of himself.

***

Being crowned the winner of the competition feels like—

( _No pun intended)_

The icing on the cake. 

"How does it feel to be the first winner of  _Norway's next great bakers_?"

"It's really nice," Isak says with a smile. "When my roommate told me to sign up, I didn't think I'd actually end up here."

"You have someone to thank, then."

Isak lets out a chuckle. "Thanks, Eskild," he says, looking directly into the camera. 

"And who would you say was your toughest opponent?" 

Isak doesn't even need a second to come up with an answer. "Even, definitely. I think he was—" 

His eyes find him among the contestants, judges and some crew members. He's difficult to miss, standing taller than all of them, but there's also the way he's talking to the people around him, the way he moves his hands as he does, the energy that emanates from him. And there's that smile of his, the one that seems so genuine, the one that had caught his attention initially. 

"I think he's really great."

***

"Hey, champion," he hears. 

Isak turns around, and he finds himself standing only about a foot in front of Even. 

"Oh, hey, hm—" Isak stutters, and  _Jesus_ , he doesn't know if there's a way  _champions_ should sound like, but it's definitely not like this. 

He straightens himself up, tries to subtly take a deep breath. "Hey, runner-up," he ends up saying, and he tries to make it sound teasing, but Even only raises an eyebrow, corners of his lips also rising a little. "You know, since I won and-"

Even's smile widens. "I was the runner-up," he says, nodding. 

Isak bites his lip and nods. "You did great, by the way," he says. "You could've easily won, too." 

"That's nice of you to say," Even replies. "I agree with the judges, though. Your cupcake looked amazing, made me wish I could've tasted it."

Isak's cheeks heat up slightly. "Oh, hm, actually, if you want to—wait. " He quickly goes to his station, and comes back with the other plate he had prepared. "I made another one, just in case." 

"Thank you," Even says as he takes the plate from him. "So, spherification of liquids, hm?" he asks and what the fuck,  _what the fuck_ , there is absolutely no context in which these words should sound this hot. 

Isak swallows. "Yeah," he says. "Thought it would, hm, be a nice little touch. And, like, add contrast." 

"A nice little touch," Even repeats with a smile. 

Isak watches as Even brings his fork to his mouth, tries not to stare at said mouth, but when he  _does_ stare at it, he tries to blame it on the fact that he's just really curious to see what Even's reaction will be. He knows his cupcake is good, objectively; professional bakers told him that it was. Still, he finds himself wanting to know what Even thinks of it, wondering if—

If he thought Isak could pull off something like this, when he decided which ingredient Isak would have to bake with. 

"Jesus,  _Isak_." 

He almost  _moans_ the words, and it's so unexpected that Isak feels actual goosebumps travel down his spine. He opens his mouth, but doesn't quite know what to say. 

Even swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, where there was a little bit of frosting left. "Seriously, that's one of the best things I've ever put in my mouth." 

Isak wails internally. A moment of silence passes, as Even takes another bite, and then another again, which makes Isak ridiculously happy. 

"You know, since I'm the runner-up," he says. "I actually got a prize, too."

"Oh, right, you got the, hm, dinner?" 

Even breathes a laugh. "You know, it's not just  _any_ diner. It's actually a luxury tasting menu, with wine pairing and everything."

"Oh, that's great," Isak says. He's swaying on his feet a little. "I hope you’ll enjoy it." 

"Well, actually—" 

Even scratches the back of his head, the same way he did when he was about to present his cupcake to the judges earlier. "It's a tasting menu for two, so I'd have to bring someone and—would you like to come with me?" 

Isak's heart is thumping in his chest, all of a sudden. Is Even  _really_ asking him to have dinner with him? As a fellow contestant in a baking competition, or—

"I'm gay," he blurts out, because that's apparently what his brain thought was the most appropriate thing to say. 

Even laughs again, half-surprised and half-amused. "Okay?"

"I'm just saying because we're going to have dinner, just us two. Some guys maybe wouldn't like the idea, knowing that..." 

Isak doesn't finish his sentence. He's been out of the closet for years, now, and his attraction to guys isn't a problem for him anymore, but sometimes he still has difficulty figuring out if the guys he's into are also into guys, and he never really wants to just  _assume_. 

"Well, these guys are assholes," Even says, his tone serious. "I'm not an asshole," he then adds, voice a little softer this time. "I swear." 

It makes Isak smile. "You're not an asshole," he agrees. 

"I'd like to go on a date with you," Even whispers. 

Isak's heartbeat has somehow managed to slow down, but he can still feel it beating in his chest. He has sort of forgotten that he's still on set, and that there are dozens of people here. All he can see is Even, this guy who's not an asshole at all. This guy he wants to know more about. 

He musters his courage and says the words: 

"I'd like to go on a date with you, too." 

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii thank you for reading, you're all great, and i hope your week is a good one so far 


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